


if you're looking to punish somebody, i'm your guy

by doxian



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Blood, Canon Compliant, Deleted Scenes, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Frottage, Injury, Masochism, Mild Gore, Nonbinary Character, Other, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sadism, Semi-Public Sex, wound fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 18:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14314173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doxian/pseuds/doxian
Summary: The images of Julian grimacing as he yanked the knife out of his stomach, him grinning saucily at you afterwards, burn bright in your mind. As you continue looking at his injury, you also notice the outline of his dick against his pants, still hard.





	if you're looking to punish somebody, i'm your guy

**Author's Note:**

> so remember that paid scene where Julian gets himself stabbed during a bar fight?
> 
> \--
> 
> my Apprentice, Jin, is very much my OC rather than a blank slate character, but you're of course welcome to envision your own Apprentice in the story if you like. Jin is nb, uses they/them pronouns, and is a baby sadist who's just beginning to realize how fun and satisfying it is to make one's significant other hurt ~

You leave the Jagged Dagger swept up in a storm of conflicting emotions — mostly confused arousal and fond annoyance. You're not sure how getting into a bar fight was supposed to help with an unobtrusive investigation trip, even though Julian had only gotten involved in the first place because one of the thugs at the bar had threatened you. But then you also know by now that Julian probably wouldn't recognize the meaning of the word "unobtrusive" even if it slapped him in the face. 

You weave back into the Red Market's winding underground roads without notice easily enough. Once you're satisfied that you aren't being followed, you sneak a glance at him. 

His eyes are still gleaming from the exhilaration of the fight — and what had ensued afterwards. His curse — or gift, depending on how you want to look at it — hasn't kicked in yet, and fresh blood still gushes from his wound. Blood, and maybe traces of the questionable drink the barkeep had concocted. It's not like you could tell the difference just by looking. 

Once the crowd has eased a little and you can walk comfortably side by side again, you point at his wound. 

"Does it burn?" You ask. An alcoholic beverage had just poured out of it, after all. 

"Hrmm?" When he realizes where you're pointing, he barks out a laugh. "Oh, this? Yes, it burns. But don't you worry yourself about it, my dear. I've been through worse." 

Of course he has. The images of Julian grimacing as he yanked the knife out of his stomach, him grinning saucily at you afterwards, burn bright in your mind. As you continue looking at his injury, you also notice the outline of his dick against his pants, still hard. He must have surreptitiously adjusted himself earlier, because it isn't conspicuous, but at such close quarters it's still pretty obvious.

Abruptly, you decide you want to do something about this — this combination of frustrated horniness that's making your gut clench. You'd pulled him into a kiss right before you left, but it hadn't been enough. A distracted energy is still sizzling under your skin.

The surprised sound Julian makes when you push him into the darkened, deserted pathway is hilarious, and you'd laugh if your attention wasn't so focused on... other things. Namely, pressing him up against the wall and placing your hand on his wound. 

"Jin, what--" 

"You've been through worse? Worse, like this?"

You've never been particularly good with words, so instead of asking, you change the position of your hand, moving so that rather than your palm sitting flat, your index and middle finger point towards where he'd been stabbed. When he cottons on to what you want to do, you swear you can feel his knees buckle. A blush blooms across his paper white skin, he bites his lip, and you already know that he's going to let you.

"Jin, do you mean-- oh, _yes_ , please, do it, I want you to--" 

You press forwards — with your body, so that you and the wall behind him are holding him up, and with your fingers, which you push into the wet warmth of him easily. Almost too easy, like a bread knife through butter. 

He gasps, drops his head to your shoulder. You rest one hand on his hip. The other, the one with the fingers shoved inside him, you pull back. Then push forwards again. 

Your legs are tangled together. You can feel his erection against your stomach. Your own dick is beginning to twitch with interest, as well, poking against his thigh. 

"Harder," he sighs against your ear, his hands coming up to grip your shoulders. You oblige him, ramming your fingers into him with more force, this time, making him choke out a cry. Blood spills over his clothes. You think you smell copper. He feels so warm inside, searing hot and slippery, flesh spongy yet firm where your fingers curl. The air around you starts to feel hot, too, and you shake your long hair out of your way, impatient. 

You have to see his face. You fist his hair with your free hand, yanking his head back up so you can look. His expression is a mask of pain, but also pleasure. He looks overwhelmed with it, like he'd faint if you weren't holding him up. His bottom lip is red from where he's been chewing on it. You were surprised that he hasn't been making more noise, but you suppose that even he has good enough sense to realize that if you're too loud, you'll get caught. You might have sequestered yourselves in this little hidey hole, but the bustle of the crowd is just beyond. 

"J-jin, please, more, you're so good--" 

You lean up, rising up on tiptoes to bridge the inches between you, and kiss him, rubbing against where his dick is sandwiched between you, soft and lingering even as you twist your fingers cruelly, adding your ring finger alongside your other two. You must be making it worse, aren't you? Your fingers are thicker than the blade he was pierced with. You must be opening the wound further, agitating it. 

Suddenly, an idea blazes into your brain, and you're so enraptured that you have to share it. 

"Imagine--" and you have to cut yourself off for a moment to compose yourself, because you start picturing it, too-- "Imagine me putting my dick here." 

You give his insides a stroke, and he shudders. 

" _Yes_." He hisses in pleasure. "When we go back, you could stab me again, Jin, and do that, you'd feel amazing--" 

The visual must do it for him as much as it does you, because he rubs against you once, twice, and then he's coming, shivering against you weakly until he's still again.

You withdraw your fingers from his stomach so you can wrap both arms around his waist, holding him.

"Alright?" You ask, once he seems to have gotten his breath back. 

He nods. 

"Perfect." He's looking at you with an awed expression, like he can't believe you just did what you did.

And then--

"What about you?" He asks, his voice unsteady. He's looking urgently into your eyes. You get the feeling that he's ready to get on his knees for you right this second, but you're uncomfortably conscious of the increasing noise as the crowd thickens, of the time slipping away, so you shake your head, jerking it from side to side. 

"Later," you say. "We should probably go."

You cup his face with both hands for one last kiss, though, admiring the contrast of your rich brown skin against his pallor, then wincing when you break apart and you see that you've smeared some of his own blood on his cheek.

"Oops." 

He's smiling at you, amused.

"I've gotten bloodied worse than this before, too." 

"...Show off." You smile back at him.

You fish a handkerchief from somewhere on your person, carefully wiping off his face, and then your hand. You leave him to deal with the state of his pants himself and watch, entertained, as he fidgets, sticking the piece of cloth down his pants and drying off the inside of his underwear as best he can, tucking the blood-and-jizz-stained handkerchief into a pocket once he's done. 

That done, you both duck back out of the enclave again, you trying not to look like you just got your boyfriend (is it accurate, to call him that?) off in a shady alleyway.

As you figure out where to go next, Julian nudges you softly. 

"Not that I'm complaining — quite the opposite, in fact — but, ah, what was that all about, Jin?"

Embarrassed over letting your desire get the better of you like that, you shrug, trying to affect more casualness than you actually feel. 

"Punishment," you say. "For rushing headfirst into danger." 

Punishment, indeed. You're spoiling him by doing these things with him, and you both know it.

"I'm sorry, Jin, but you know I'd let myself get beat up by a dozen ruffians if that's what it took for all the hairs on your pretty head to stay unharmed."

You feel yourself flush. You want to say something about how he doesn't have to keep doing this, putting himself in danger for you, but that's probably a conversation for another time.

"Come on," you say, instead, businesslike. Or your best attempt at businesslike, at least. "We still have information about a gladiator to find."

"Yes, boss," he jokingly salutes you, and you set off. 

Julian's wound heals soon after, but your gaze continues catching on the blood-stained tear in his coat through the rest of the afternoon.


End file.
